


Whatever happened to Mrs Claus

by Clockwork



Category: Santa Claus: The Movie (1985)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Silly, unanswered questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 01:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16776514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork
Summary: What happens to the Missues when the Mister dies? A bit of silliness and fluff.





	Whatever happened to Mrs Claus

Mythrial was standing by the window the day that the snow first began to fall. It had been nearly twenty five years since snow had fallen on Christmas Eve, and seeing those first delicate flakes flutter down from the sky was a wondrous sight, though heartbreaking as well. 

She was the first to take a place in their home, the first to wander the rooms through days and years, finding ways to keep herself busy. As sad as it was to add a new lady to their home, it was also a moment to celebrate. There would be new stories for the children this year, and new books to be found in school libraries, and left behind by rubbish bins, and cherished from low shelves in thrift stores. It was a sad day. Tears would be shed and memories would be shared, but come the first of the year, all within the house would be rejuvenated, and they would start working on helping their newest addition to adjust to her new life.

Pushing open the curtains as far as they would go, she moved around the first floor of the chalet, opening all of the windows so that the vistas and mountains beyond the dark wood and glass villa could be seen from every room on that floor. Once all the windows were opened, she moved to the massive fireplace that dominated the center of the great room in a massive circle that allowed all to gather and none to be left out.

Kneeling to one side, she took out a match and lit it to the already laid kindling beneath the pyre of logs that formed a peak in the middle of the firepit. Above the roof peaked, channeling away the smoke and drawing up the sparks and embers to dance about amidst those gathered. A gathering that hadn’t even known it was going to be convened until that moment. 

That moment when Mythrial moved to the wall by the window, picking up a gold bell that sat in a special alcove designed just for it. It was round as one might be on a harness, though the size of a baseball, and the sound it made was pure and clean and crystalline, and as she shook it by the hook at the top of the bell, the sound it made was heard throughout the entire chalet.

Soon Mythrial heard the patter of bare feet, the clatter of heels, and from the kitchen, the whooshing glide of the skates their latest addition always wore. A reminder of her first date with her husband, a roller rink with disco lights and music. Lori had fallen in love with him then, and when he had taken his place five years later, she had gladly come along as his Missus. Now from the time she woke until they time she slept, she wore the skates. Even on the stairs. Had it been her husband any of them might have worried but for them there was no falling accidents as had befallen so many of their loved ones. Not for them though.

Lori spun to a stop, seeing the darkness revealed beyond the windows, the fire beginning to snap and crackle in the middle of the room. 

“Oh.”

It was all she said, staring at Mythrial as if begging her to say otherwise. Instead she crossed the rooms, taking Lori’s hands and guiding her by the ease of her wheels to the pillows and cushions that surrounded the wide stone lip of the fireplace.

“I know, it’s hard but you managed it and now you’ll be here to help them just as we helped you,” she said, giving a small downward tug to encourage the girl to sit down. “It’s your first snow though, and don’t think this means you have no stories left. Oh no. This will remind you and bring so many more out. It’ll be okay,” Mythrial assured their youngest, straightening as the others started filing in. 

Some went to the cushions immediately, settling themselves in. Some paused at the window to watch as the flakes began to build, growing thicker and fluffier as they fell. Even as they did, the snow began to melt, leaving behind dark, rich, loamy earth that they wouldn’t see again until the snow began to fall once more on Christmas Eve. It only fell on the years that a life was lost, the spirit replaced and replenished, and the snow heralded the coming of another of their own. 

“It’ll be nice to play in fresh snow,” Magdalena sighed, tracing a finger over the panes of glass as they began to frost. The heat of her finger left a path in its wake as she carefully sketched out a delicate design of a reindeer hear with massive, curling antlers. 

“I wonder if she’ll have children with her. I do miss children.” 

The one behind the voice tried to hide amongst the others, but Mythrial knew who it was. Sarah had never conceived before she arrived, and she hoped to be the one to return with children should they arrive. Mythrial found herself caught between hoping they would have children with them for Sarah’s sake, and hating the idea of yet again separating a parent and child when they had already lost one. Not to mention losing Sarah, her stories forever a part of the world, but never to be written again if she left.

Yet they would know soon enough, finding themselves facing their newest arrival as the flames began to climb.

The fire grew on its own, the flames climbing towards the ceiling. The embers sparked and crackled but as they fell over those assembled they soothed and melted, almost as if touching the snow that fell from the sky outside rather than their skin. 

Mythrial stood by the window, watching. Her gaze caught Lori’s and instead of the worry that had been there a moment before there was a smile. Bright. Excited. Catching the energy of the moment, and Mythrial, who was glad for all of those that had joined her, was most glad for Lori in that moment.

Suddenly the fire flared so bright it was blinding, gilded and golden and white hot, and then in an instant it was gone. The snow beyond the windows was a wild flurry, a growing blizzard as snow poured down over the landscape and the house. A snow that would leave drifts and banks, but would never melt, never vanish. Not until the snow started again one Christmas Eve.

Standing there in the middle of the fireplace, the fire gone and the ashes cooled was their newest member. The one that would write new stories, and be guided through old stories. Another to help create all the legends that children told, and the word of mouth stories that never matched any book their parents could find. The stories that were their inspiration and the first matches to the fire of their creativity. 

Stories given to the world by the woman that had married a man who was santa and who, under the terms and conditions of the Mrs Clause, would forever live in the chalet, the inspiration and the light for Santas and others the world over. 

Except the person standing there was not a new Missus, a widow who had lost her husband to fire or fall or fight. 

They stood tall and proud and looking around with a soft smile as they introduced themselves.

“Hi. Uhmm, I’m Jon, and my husband, Santa, he fell from a roof in Chicago on the lawn of a man named Scott Calvin.”

Mythrial smiled, glancing to the window and the snowy landscape beyond. Maybe it wasn’t children, but it was a change, something to let them update just as the elves often did for their Santas, and she for one, couldn’t be happier.


End file.
